She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. “A man can smoke, a man can swear; A man scores always, everywhere. If only monsieur le baron had said nothing, or perhaps instead accepted the couple as the Valades and agreed to help them. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. "Good night.
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